All tears shed by a smile

Life under the dark blue sky Paint the clouds

When winter comes, a candle dies. A voice shuts and the sky opens its big gate. A child, a young boy, smiles. He loved the snow, white and pure, but he couldn't feel that it's cold. The clouds were smiling at him, with a big warm mouth that hides something deeper, thunder. The boy wanted to touch the soft and light pillow that the sky slept on. In his little bedroom, on his bed, he took a piece of paper.

When summer appears, a flower grows, water from every river gives liquid life, and a little voice appears, the voice of an angel, a child of the sky, a little boy. He was made out of light and happiness and you could see the innocence in his bright blue eyes. He was too young to remember the sun smiling at him. But in the back of his mind, he could still hear a gate opening.

In autumn, a little boy smiled at the sun and waved his fragile hand to him. A piece of paper lies on his bed, a treasure. The gate of the sky, with its lock on the ground. With a ball in his hand, he plays on the grass. Then a crack broke the silence. It must've been the wind.
Yes, the wind....
When the wind comes a little boy flies in the sky. It was that time when 6 feet never felt so far. He was living this earth to join the clouds.

When the wind leaves, a little piece of piece of paper was still flying in the air, between the dandelions. Maybe he could paint the clouds after all.